


an understanding

by novoaa1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Kneeling, Light Dom/sub, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, POV Natasha Romanov, Pet Names, and natasha's still working on the whole 'normal loving relationship' bit, but what else is new, like its not thaT light but its also not like. hardcore ya know, not like excessively, pepper potts has bde, sorta - Freeform, they've been together a while, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: "To be clear, Natasha doesn’t do ‘surrender’—or, at least, she didn’t. Not in business, not in pleasure (what little of it she’s managed to cultivate over the years), not in friendship.Well, that is…. until Pepper."Or: Sometimes, Natasha needs help... though, an admittedly unconventional kind. When that happens, she goes to the only person she trusts to catch her when she allows herself to crumble—Pepper.





	an understanding

**Author's Note:**

> uh u know the drill here: wrote this all in one go, should've been sleeping like 4 hours ago, but oh well - what can you do? i'll prolly come back and edit later
> 
> anyways
> 
> here's the first thing i've written for pepper and natasha (probably will plan to write more 'cause i think they're the cutest)
> 
> hope you like!

Some days, it gets to Natasha more than others—it’s not anything terribly specific, either; there isn’t one isolated variable that throws her into a tailspin, or one singlehandedly devastating factor that penetrates her marble skin with the ease of a sharpened blade, that has the familiar ache of uncertainty curling itself deep within her very bones in such a way she most always fears will prove to be permanent. 

Some days, it’s not enough to cuff herself to the bed frame (even if Pepper isn’t fond of that particular habit), or to drink herself until she goes temporarily blind, or to watch Pepper spasm helplessly beneath her in the throes of merciless pleasure on Natasha’s deft fingers. 

Some days, there’s little to be done about the inexplicably _wrong_ feeling rising within her gut, about the incessant crawling beneath her skin she can’t ever seem to conquer, about the voices screaming bloody murder in her brain until she thinks she might go mad with the insanity of it all… except, to surrender. 

Though, to be clear, Natasha doesn’t do ‘surrender’—or, at least, she didn’t. Not in business, not in pleasure (what little of it she’s managed to cultivate over the years), not in friendship. 

Well, that is…. until Pepper. 

And it wasn’t easy, either—it wasn’t easy for Natasha to understand (much less _admit_ ) that sometimes kneeling demurely at Pepper’s feet, allowing herself to flush under the woman’s murmured praise, obediently bending to the unyielding will of someone she trusted to catch her after the storm, was the only thing that could fix her. 

(She still isn’t quite sure most days whether she even deserves to be fixed—but, that’s a different matter entirely.)

It wasn’t easy, but there’s something painfully liberating about the (relative) dexterity they’ve managed to achieve after weeks— _months_ of seemingly endless discussion on limits, and safe words, and all the minor technicalities that made Natasha’s head spin.

(Natasha didn’t understand why they should bother with safe words, or limits—she knew, logically, that it was a thing many people discussed before engaging in sexual activities layered with such an inherently imbalanced power dynamic, but she wasn’t most people. 

Truthfully, Natasha viewed submission not as a way to please both parties, but purely as a means to satisfy the authoritarian figure. 

Simply put: Natasha didn’t quite understand why her opinion should matter, not when the very nature of ‘submission’ was to fully relinquish herself to another. She didn’t understand why she would be allowed the distinctly hollow luxury of ‘limits’ and ‘safe words.'

In the grand scheme of things, there were very little—if any—discomforts and undertakings that Natasha had not yet endured. 

So, while she could understand that the average nine-to-five white-collar citizen would find comfort in safe words and limits, she didn’t see how that rang true for her as well. 

At this point in her life, she’s sure she’s amassed more than enough triggers that it’s quite literally impossible to go throughout a typical non-life-threatening day (much less a sexual scene grounded so deeply in such severe inequalities of power) without encountering at least one thing to provoke her underlying panic and damage; she exists in a constant state of paranoia, of discomfort, purely because she knows the world’s darkened corners and the reprehensible possibilities that lie within just as innately as she knows that the sky is blue, or that gravity exists.

As far as she was concerned, it was on her to weather the sharp winds of Pepper’s unforgiving storm, to endure each and every consequence of the older woman's desire—though, admittedly, she’s becoming less and less convinced that that’s the case, for Pepper Potts is nothing if not exceptionally thorough.

She’s still unsure as to whether that’s a good thing, or not.)

Because, now, Pepper doesn’t blink when Natasha pads quietly into their shared apartment (it took a while, but eventually, Natasha had agreed to well and truly move in, even despite the fact that they’d already been unofficially living together for the better part of a year), when she sinks swiftly to her knees at Pepper’s feet, when she bows her head and allows her shoulders to tremble so that Pepper can see her weakness, her _need_.

And, still, Pepper remains stagnant upon the sleek leather couch, doesn’t acknowledge Natasha whilst she maintains her unrelenting focus upon the luminescent screen of her laptop, planning meetings for Stark Industries and checking meticulously over bi-quarterly income reports and fulfilling all the duties (and then some) of a multibillion-dollar company’s CEO without sparing a single trace of recognition for the graceful redheaded assassin sitting wordlessly at her feet. 

But, that’s what Natasha likes about Pepper, why she trusts her to handle Natasha’s surrender—because, through it all, Pepper is _consistent_.

Her movements are measured, her words weighted, her blue-eyed gaze unnervingly shrewd—she’s like Natasha, almost, but different. So very different. 

Natasha is a spy, a deceiver… a killer. 

Pepper isn’t. 

She’s just human, and a downright competent one at that. 

She doesn’t kill people, probably wouldn’t quite know how to even go about it (nor would she ever wish to try), but there’s a stringent resilience sewn sure-handedly into the constituents of her very being, a sort of impenetrable steel that lies beneath her delicate skin—such that submitting to Pepper isn’t so much choice for Natasha, as it is instinct.

It doesn’t take an abundance of concentration for Natasha to sit quietly back on her heels before a studious Pepper, for Natasha to lay the key to her invisible bindings in Pepper’s lap and wait patiently for her to accept it; rather, it’s the exact opposite, in truth. 

Because it’s not a task, or a chore—at least, it doesn’t feel like one, and it never has. Not to Natasha. 

(Not when it’s Pepper.)

Even now, she feels a delectable haze descending upon her mind, a sort of heavy-handed comfort that permeates her consciousness and dulls her senses, a wondrous and freeing sensation that only increases with every moment she spends illustrating the considerable extent to which her deference reaches.

And the best part? It’s not a performance; it’s not for show. 

Rather, it’s a reconciliation—an understanding. 

Natasha isn’t kneeling for herself, or Madame B., or as some twisted penance for the hundreds of lives she’s taken; no, she’s kneeling for _Pepper_ , because in this very moment, there isn't a single person in the world whose opinion truly matters… except hers.

She doesn’t care what Clint or Phil or anyone else thinks—she’s here and small and _vulnerable_ on her knees because _Pepper_ is the one she yearns to please, because she knows she can handle the voices and the screams and every drop of crimson that drips from her bloodstained ledger if she lets Pepper decide, if she allows Pepper to take the reins. 

And roughly half an hour later, when Pepper is ( _finally_ ) shutting her laptop closed and tactfully setting it aside upon the cushions, beautiful teal-blue eyes appraising Natasha without a hint of insincerity in the dimly-lit room, she does just that; she allows Pepper to take control. 

She doesn’t fight when Pepper’s elegant fingers find their way beneath Natasha’s chin, guiding her steadily back up to meet her penetrating gaze; she doesn’t fight, and instead obliges herself to lean forward into the firm touch like she so desperately wants to rather than stiffen in some valiantly feigned show of indifference; she doesn’t fight, but rather _melts_ beneath the gentle authority Pepper yields, the almost ethereal glow of her benevolent sovereignty.

“Check in,” Pepper demands softly, her tone steely but kind, the tender words like sweetened honey washing over her as they gradually suffuse the unadulterated silence, seeping warmly throughout Natasha’s entire being like a blessed remedy.

Natasha swallows, the action nearly imperceptible as she gathers herself, dutifully maintaining steadfast eye contact all the while. “Green, Ma’am.”

Pepper merely tilts her head at that, a vaguely contemplative look gracing her angular features as she allows her fingers to fall from Natasha’s chin. “Safe word?”

“Красный.”

“Good, Natalia. Good,” she compliments concisely, her gaze keen and almost cold even as the palpable approval in her tone causes a light blush to tinge Natasha’s cheeks—then, she’s leaning forward to caress Natasha’s cheek with sure fingers, a genuine smile quirking at Pepper's red-painted lips as a nearly inaudible sigh of contentment escapes the kneeling woman in response. “Tell me, darling: who do you belong to?”

Natasha suppresses the shudder that wracks her malleable form at the offhand term of endearment—Pepper always loved those, loved calling her ‘darling’ and 'sweetheart’ and 'sweet girl,’ each dulcet uttering setting something primal alight within Natasha no matter how emphatically she attempted to hide their effect upon her. (Or, used to, anyhow. Not anymore.) 

“You, Ma’am,” she whispers out, focusing intently on articulating each syllable to perfection rather than the debilitating repercussions of Pepper’s sonorous words as they drench her in unparalleled euphoria. “Only you.”

Pepper hums, the low yet gentle note sending shivers down Natasha’s spine, the smooth pads of her exquisite fingers still caressing Natasha’s cheeks so languidly, entirely lacking in any sense of urgency. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” she affirms softly, and Natasha shivers. “That’s right.” She pauses then, dropping her hand to her lap—Natasha resists the powerful urge to whine pathetically at the loss. “Now. Let’s begin.” 

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**Author's Note:**

> красный | _krasnyy_ | red
> 
> feedback is the best!
> 
> also here’s the link to my 


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